Reality and Cliche II
by Slut Queen Virgin King
Summary: If you absolutely love HG/SS and have no sense of the ridiculous, go no further. Otherwise, read on and watch the cliches crumble. Please r&r.


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REALITY AND CLICHÉ II

A long time ago, a lady called Hazel asked for some reality in fan fiction. I gave her some. Now it's the turn of Harry Potter fic. Apologies to those who like Hermione to be a Marysue, and Snape to be sexy.

Hermione Granger stepped off the train, on her way to Hogwarts yet again. She sighed. The last thing she expected was to be coming back here Graduated, and in a secure teaching job at Spellings Special School, she woke up one morning and couldn't remember anything about Potions or Arithmancy, but unfortunately could still recall everything about Divination. 

The doctor at St Mungo's was very direct. "It's a little known side effect of the Time Turner," she said. "Muggles have discovered some things, and one of those is that for every reaction, there is and opposite and equal reaction. You mucked about with time and gained knowledge you normally couldn't have gained. The elastic band has snapped, Miss Granger. That knowledge is now gone. You will have to regain it in the normal manner."

Hermione swallowed, and two months later found her on the doorstep of Hogwarts, re-enrolled in Potions and Arithmancy, 4th year. She was twenty three years old, and her school uniform didn't fit terribly well. But rules were rules, so she squeezed herself back into it. She didn't want to admit it, but she had put on a bit of weight over the years.

The train disgorged steam and students. Hagrid was calling the first years to him. He was armed with Fluffy, who snapped at the young students and ate one.

"And we thought Quidditch was a rough game," whispered one first year to another.

Hermione took a carriage to the castle, enduring the chatter of a couple of seventh years. They gossiped about her all through the ride. One finally plucked up courage and unplucked manners.

"Aren't you a bit old to be a student?" she asked.

"I'm (big swallow) repeating some subjects."

Hermione saw the student mime 'thickhead' at her friend, who sniggered and mouthed back 'dumb as a box of hammers'. 

When Hermione opened the carriage door at the other end, there were two rats in place of the students, and Hermione's elderly cat Crookshanks ate them.

Macgonagall greeted her warmly within the castle walls. Hermione pulled back, covered in fur.

"Sorry, my dear, I'm shedding," Macgonagall said. "Now, I've put you in a room by yourself. I didn't think you'd want to share with the younger girls."

"Damn straight."

"But I'm afraid all the school rules do apply to you. Uniform, curfew, and that one about underwear. It still has to be grey and itchy." She looked Hermione up and down. At school, the girl had held promise of becoming a beauty, a late bloomer. The bloom must have come and gone. Hermione stood in her old school uniform, untidy, overweight, and hair still as frizzy as ever. "I don't suppose that will be a big issue," Macgonagall added.

"I tried silk and satin, but they're cold. This is England. I like warmth around my privates, thankyou." End of issue, end of explanation, and end of Macgonagall wanting to know any more about Hermione.

The elder woman cleared her throat. "Yes, well, I'll be having a word with the students and they'll understand about your age, and why you're here. But I'm afraid you'll be treated the same as any other student."

Hermione smiled. In truth, she couldn't wait to succumb to all those rules again. When she was a student, she felt secure, at home at Hogwarts. Being a rule enforcer was all very well and enjoyable, but to be honest, she preferred the student role.

She and Macgonagall exchanged a few more pleasantries until the tutor moved away to whip the first years into shape. It had been decided during the Harry Potter years that a simple talking-to wasn't enough. Macgonagall got out her whip. Hermione slipped unobtrusively into the Great Hall and took her place at the Gryffindor table. Most of the students were too busy chatting to worry about the new girl.

Hermione gauged the teachers. She knew most of them, but a few had retired, died, or run away to join the circus. She noted Snape was still there, sitting at the end of the table, The Man In Black. He glanced at Hermione and their gazes held. He poked his tongue out at her. She returned fire. He gave her the one-finger gesture, she responded with two. Ahh, it was good to be back.

The Arithmancy teacher was Millicent Bulstrode. That class was going to be pure hell. Millicent had grown into a tall, slim vamp. She sat, legs crossed, garter belt showing under her miniskirt. Professor Wookie, the DADA teacher had his large and hairy hand on her leg. He saw Hermione looking, and slowly, leisurely reached up and fingered the crossbox slung over his back. Hermione slid her gaze back along the table, catching Snape in mid-stare.

"What?" she mouthed at him.

He was suddenly interested in the napkin in his lap. He fiddled with it. Hermione watched. Was he….. Good grief, he had an erection. The napkin was speared into a tent.

Hermione was thankful when Dumbledore rose to speak. "Another year beginning. And so it goes. At the end of the feast, if someone could notify me who exactly is dead amongst the first years, I will write to the parents. I have a few start of term notices. The Forbidden Forest now has neon lighting, so is not forbidden to anyone. The third floor is out of bounds to everyone, but as it's invisible anyway, that shouldn't be a problem. And no one is to stare at Miss Hermione Granger. It's not her fault she's stupid now. And now, the feast." He clapped his hands and the food appeared. 

No one ate. They were all looking at Hermione, who swore under her breath. Great.

It took a full five minutes before the pull of food stopped the gawking and the school settled down. Snape smirked at Hermione and raised his goblet to her. She speared a sausage with her fork and held it up to him. His erection melted.

"Miss Granger, stay behind after class. Detention for not paying attention." Snape glared at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. It wasn't her fault. The dungeons were dank, dire and there wasn't enough light to keep her awake. The boring little Gryffindors and Slytherins around her didn't melt cauldrons or anything exciting. She'd only nodded off for a moment.

The classroom emptied. Snape leaned across her desk to shove his beaky nose in her face.

"Perhaps you need to be taught a lesson, Miss Not-Know-It-All-Granger." He smelled dreadful. His hair was long, lank, and he was balding on top. It gave him the appearance of being a long lost member of the Grateful Dead.

Hermione leaned way back in her chair, overbalanced and fell. The Potions lab floor hadn't been mopped in recent history, say the last seventy years. She stuck to the surface. She stared up at Snape who had come round the desk. He was fiddling with his crotch again.

"Miss Granger," he hissed. Her uniform had ridden up, revealing her standard grey granny knickers. "I don't think you ever realised the penchant I have for women in uniform."

She rolled her eyes. "Wanna bet? Everyone knew about you and Pansy Parkinson."

Snape frowned. "Which one was Pansy? Oh yes, I remember." He grinned. It wasn't a pretty sight. "Sorry, there's been so many."

"I know. Everyone knows." She sighed. "I suppose you're going to offer me a quick way to pass my exams?"

Snape looked puzzled. "No. Just the pleasure of my company."

Hermione tried to rise. Nope, still firmly stuck to the filthy Potions floor. Snape was getting ready to pounce. Did she have a choice? Well, yes, she could have spelled him into next week, but she already had six months of detentions for killing off another ten students, turning four into ducks, and blasting Millicent Bulstrode into atoms. She braced herself. Snape descended in a cloud of body odour, ugly clothes, and snuffling noises.

Hermione adjusted her clothing as Snape helped her up from the floor. Her robe was permanently stuck there now and would add to the many layers of detritus there.

"Sorry about that," Snape said.

Hermione shrugged. "Not a problem. But you really should see a doctor about it."

Snape sighed. "I have. I'm much better than I used to be."

Hermione reflected this wasn't something Pansy had ever mentioned. Who knew Snape was over-ready? He'd barely bumped his way into her when he came. And this was 'better' than it used to be? No wonder Pansy never boasted.

Snape made an ineffectual motion towards Hermione's crotch. "If you want, I could…." He trailed off.

Hemione shook her head. "Look, it's fine, really." Why tell him that she was frigid? That no one had ever made her come, ever? That Harry Potter couldn't get a job because of frightful Repetitive Strain Injury in his fingers? Let Snape think it was his fault.

The dungeon door opened, just as Snape was putting away his over-eager, undersized tackle. Dumbledore blanched.

"What the- What is going on here? This is highly irregular, and against the rules. Miss Granger, Professor Snape, report to my office immediately. The school will not condone this sort of thing." He swept out, his left eye twitching. 

Hermione and Snape stood in Hogsmeade, their belongings around them. Expelled and sacked, respectively. On the spot. No negotiation.

"I guess there's always Durmstrang," Snape said.

"Me too. I have to get my certificates before I can go back to work."

They looked at each other. Two misfits in search of a life. They wouldn't live happily ever after, but at least they could live less miserably. Snape took Hermione's hand. He was cold and clammy. She shivered. A match made in Purgatory.

***** *****


End file.
